


Away From A Safe Place

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boarding School, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-28
Updated: 2013-05-28
Packaged: 2017-12-13 03:34:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/819486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Boarding school AU in which Zayn is failing Latin, stage lights dim, and enter Harry stage left.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Away From A Safe Place

**Author's Note:**

> For [Val✿](http://mr-styles.tumblr.com) and OT6. This fic is for _you_.
> 
> This is not a theatre fic. 
> 
> ofc standard don't know them, don't own them, etc. -- Unbeta'd, all mistakes are my own.

Zayn inhales deeply though his nose, the scent of his last smoke lingering in the corners of his dorm room. He closes his eyes momentarily, feeling his lungs expand to accommodate the newly inhaled breath. He grabs his school blazer from where it hangs limply off the back off a chair, the dull gold buttons failing to catch the light and wink at him.

 _Pathetic_ , his sigh conveys to the blazer. The item of clothing makes a displeased face at him, continuing to sulk as a lump of navy fabric in his hands, wrinkling where his grip has tightened. He shrugs it on, his shoulders filling out the moping form of the jacket just right. Zayn moves toward the mirror, straightening out the lapels and buttoning the cuff links.

His reflection stares back at him. His eyes are hollow and his cheekbones are certainly much more prominent than they were at the beginning of this school year. There are dark circles framing his eyes, almost as if they were there to match the long fan of his delicate eyelashes. His lips are pressed into a thin line. He comes off as unfriendly, mean, he thinks. _Fuck off_ , he says to the reflection.

It doesn’t budge.

.

Zayn doesn’t take a second glance when he locks the door. He knows what the dorm room looks like – not very different to how it would have looked if he still lived in the dorm, but a certain _presence_ would have been missing.

It doesn’t matter, he doesn’t live there anymore.

.

He sits on his trunk, tapping his foot as he waits for a car to come pick him up. His mother had rang earlier that morning, “the driver will come to pick you up today. I will not be coming,” she had informed him. “The new driver is called Robert.”

“What happened to Hanley?” He asked, not bothering to ask for an answer as to why she wouldn’t be coming for him – she never did, over the 6 years he had attended this boarding school (the day he left, she pressed a fleeting kiss to his forehead – a goodbye). The driver had become somewhat a close companion – a family member, almost, considering the amount of times he saw his mother in a year.

“We fired him,” she had answered simply, her voice tired but confident. “I will see you at home, Zayn.”

She hung up before he could reply.

He tugs on the sleeves of his blazer, feeling the moisture in the air slowly sink into his skin, his hair, his clothing. He wants to take of the darned blazer, the stupid blue and gold striped tie that sits neatly atop his crisp button up.

He feels the anger bubbling inside him, prickling at the walls of his veins and aching in his bones. It twists with the dull pain in his stomach, a disgusting feeling that pushes at his chest and his throat, wanting its way out of his body.

He’s angry at his parents, at the teachers and students of the ruddy boarding school his mother had sent him to 6 years ago, when his father had just passed away. But above it all, he can’t tell if he’s angry at himself, or at Harry.

 _Harry_.

.

Zayn and Harry didn’t start speaking until Zayn’s 5th year at the boarding school. He had fallen behind on his Latin studies, and taking pity upon his grades, Mr Falkasius had suggested that he sit with Harry for a bit of extra help.

(“Nearly an A, Zayn. You only need 3 more points. But I’m afraid with the level that your conjugation of verbs is at right now you won’t be able to achieve that A. Maybe you should sit with Harry over there, he might be able to help you,” Mr Falkasius had suggested, tilting his head in the direction of the curly haired boy.)

Harry had smiled brightly, dimples digging into his skin so deep that Zayn thought it might hurt if Harry smiled any more. He extended his hand, staring up expectantly at Zayn until Zayn had reached out and shook Harry’s hand.

“I’m Harry,” he had introduced.

“I know, I’m in the same class,” Zayn replied, dropping his bag ungracefully onto the floor. A blush crept up Harry’s cheeks. “Mr Falkasius told me to sit with you. He said, um, that you could maybe help me bump up my grades or something. It’s okay if you don’t, I was tired of sitting at the back anyway, that Hensley kid is fucking noisy sometimes.”

“It’s alright,” Harry beams, the rosy glow still in his cheeks. “I’m more than happy to help you.”

Zayn never experienced such an urge to kiss someone before, Harry’s pretty pink lips looking soft. “Um,” he said, swallowing and looking away from Harry’s lips. “Yeah, that’d be cool, thanks.”

.

(Then it all went downhill from there, in a way.)

.

Harry was by his side more often than not, chattering at Zayn about the musical theatre performance he was currently working on, or the songs that he was producing as part of his music coursework. Zayn didn’t reply, except for nodding and a few noises of acknowledgement.

They started eating lunch together, Harry sliding his tray shyly next to Zayn’s on the table that Zayn usually occupies by himself. Harry interlaced himself into Zayn’s life slowly, day by day until he had become a vital part in the foundations of Zayn’s world, keeping him upright and shy of crumbling into himself from his self-loathing and his hatred for his parents, and the people he was surrounded with.

Harry began to introduce his friends to Zayn, and though Zayn never became close to any of them, he knew the Tomlinson kid enough to nod at him when they walked past each other in the corridors of their school.

He also dragged Zayn to parties, tucking Zayn away in a corner of the room with a beer cradled in his hands as Harry put himself on display to the different number of people in the room. Zayn watched as Harry flitted from crowd to crowd, everyone seeming to know Harry and even if they didn’t, they’d warm up to his grin and easy-going personality straight away, acting as if they had been friends for years.

Zayn would bring a slightly tipsy Harry back to his dorm room, the younger boy fumbling for his keys from the pockets of his overly tight jeans and handing them to Zayn, whilst relying on the older of the two to keep them both upright, Harry’s arm a solid weight around his own waist, his body heat seeping through the different items of clothing he wore.

Every time Harry got a little more than tipsy, he’d hang onto Zayn’s wrist after he’d been tucked into bed, just as Zayn was about to leave back to his own dorm room.

The request was simple, and the same, every time, “Don’t leave,” Harry would slur, his thumb and forefinger circling Zayn’s skinny wrist. “Stay.”

“I have to go, Harry. I don’t want to miss curfew,” Zayn would reply, hating himself for halting in his steps already. “C’mon, I’ll see you tomorrow, probably.”

“Stay,” Harry would reply sleepily, frowning as he tried to keep his eyes open, glassy and unfocused. “Please.”

“Last time,” Zayn would sigh, knowing the lie in the statement before it left his lips. “Shush now, sleep,” he’d tell Harry, the younger boy curled into his chest, nose nuzzling into the junction between his neck and his shoulder.

“Wanna kiss you,” Harry would mumble, his breath hot on Zayn’s neck.

“No you don’t,” he’d reply, flinching as Harry’s cold feet touched his ankles.

“You don’t know that,” Harry would reply stubbornly, and sigh. “I do love you.”

“You don’t. Now sleep,” Zayn would insist, tangling a hand into Harry’s hair, and soothing the alcohol intoxicated boy.

“I love you,” Harry whispers before he falls asleep. “No matter how many times you deny it, I do, Zayn.”

Zayn would sigh, feeling his chest and stomach clench uncomfortably. _Stop it,_ he’d order his organs. “No you don’t. Sleep.”

He wouldn’t let another person into his heart. He wouldn’t care for Harry like he did with his mother and his father – one who had died and left him confused with a broken family, and the other who had failed to support and rebuild his crumbling walls.

He refused to let Harry claw his way into his shrivelling, rotting heart and tear it into pieces like Niall had, before. (He nearly did it to Perrie, too. She broke into a thousand beautiful, irridescent pieces, scattered for her friends to collect and repair.)

He refused to let himself be fucked over because he _cared_.

.

(He was already fucked over.)

.

He pulls out his phone, a text from Danny sitting in his inbox, unopened.

 _Mate,_ it says simply. And Zayn acknowledges the care, and the underlying tone of sorry-you-got-expelled unsaid, but evident.

 _Yeah_ , he replies. _Thanks_.

 _I’m sorry. Ant is too_.

 _I’m not_.

_Better this way?_

_Yeah_.

_See you around then._

_Take care – tell Ant too._

.

The driver is late. Or perhaps, Zayn is just early.

Earlier this week, he had stood in the principal’s office, facing Mr Docherty’s evident disappointment as he had informed him Harry’s guardian requested an expulsion and the school, under their unfortunate guidelines, had to agree.

He nodded, stood up, shook his principal’s hand, and left the room, shutting the door quietly.

He began packing on Tuesday night, pushing the trunk into his closet every night so Harry wouldn’t see when he dropped in to Zayn’s room in the afternoons and just before dinner.

.

Harry takes him to a party, "a special one," Harry had promised, fingers lacing with Zayn's. 

(Zayn wondered if Harry could feel his pulse.)

And maybe Harry is just playing a sick fucking twisted joke right now, or maybe Zayn's just overreacting.

Harry has his lips interlocked with a pretty brunette's. His hands curled gently at her waist, and one resting on her neck, his eyes shut.

Zayn turns around and leaves, ignoring Tomlinson’s protests and offers of Beer Pong.

“No thanks,” he sneers, and Tomlinson backs off immediately, merging back into the crowd as easily as he had slipped out.

.

Zayn doesn’t hear the footsteps, but he feels the presence of another body. He doesn’t turn around. He doesn’t need to.

“You weren’t going to even say goodbye,” he hears the accusation.

His stomach churns, anger bubbling up simultaneously as the tightening feeling of his heart he’s been trying to ignore.

“I don’t need to,” he says simply, not turning around. “I’ve already apologised.”

“That’s not what it’s about, Zayn! I don’t want a fucking apology!” Harry starts to say, his voice elevated. Zayn can hear the wad of emotions stuck in Harry’s throat, mirroring his own.

“I already apologised.”

.

He throws all of Harry’s awards into the metal bin the younger boy has in his dorm room. He pulls out the lighter from his pocket, flicks it on and holds it too close to the paper.

“Oops,” he says to the flickering flames, licking at the awards and diplomas.

(He wonders if he should see a psychiatrist, at the back of his mind.)

He pulls the pictures off the walls in Harry’s room, taking the frames off desks and cupboards one by one. There are pictures of Harry and Gemma - his sister - and Harry and his family, and so many of Harry with his friends.

There is one of him and Harry, he didn't even know existed. It's evident that the photograph sitting neatly in the silver frame was taken without his knowledge at a party they had attended, Harry’s head pillowed on his chest, smiling dopily up at Zayn. If Zayn had known his expression resembled the stupidity of a lovesick character in one of his sister’s chick flicks, he would have clawed his eyes out, set them ablaze, and thrown them out of the nearest window.

(The expression would still be there, he thinks. It’s just an excuse.)

He throws the picture frames onto the floor one by one, the satisfying sounds of glass shattering soothing the fiery anger in the pit of his stomach, the acid in his throat.

.

“I don’t want a fucking apology,” Harry yelled, standing in front of Zayn, a few inches of space between them. “Look at me, you fucking dick!”

Zayn slowly glances up at Harry, the reddened rims of his eyes and the tears still hanging onto his defined jawline. Zayn wants to reach up and wipe away the tears, kiss his eyes shut and tell him that everything is going to be okay.

Except it won’t be.

“I don’t understand what you want, Harry, I’m already being expelled, what do you want from me?”

“Zayn,” Harry says, the simple word being broken up by the lack of air in his constricting windpipe. “I waited for you. For so long, too.”

Zayn doesn’t reply, averting his gaze to the emblazoned breast pocket of Harry’s blazer.

“I gave you everything, I served my fucking heart up for you on a platter,” Harry says quietly, the conviction light in his tone. “You- I just wanted you. I didn’t ask for anything else.” Harry takes in a shaky breath, "I didn't even ask for anything in return."

“I know,” Zayn replies quietly, his heart thundering in his chest. He wonders if Harry can hear it.

“You _knew_ , you _know_ and you didn’t do anything about it! I waited for you for so fucking long and I gave you everything I could. I tried to be more for you.”

Zayn doesn’t reply.

“Please come back,” Harry whispers after a dejected silence. “Don’t leave. Stay.”

The air gets caught up in Zayn’s throat, this conversation having happened too many times for his liking. “I can’t.”

“Simon was furious when they said that the school's reviewing your behaviour again next term. You’ll get to come back! If you don't come back, we can both move to another school! Harrods! Emingtons!” Harry insists, his fists curled at his sides like he wants to reach out to touch Zayn but doesn’t dare.

Zayn hears the sound of an engine in the distance. “I have to go, Harry.” He doesn’t look up at Harry. He can’t.

“Stay. Please.”

“I can’t, I’ve-“

“I love you,” Harry interrupts.

Neither of them say anything, the sounds of the engine drawing closer and closer. “I do, and you can’t tell me I don’t, because I know I do, and I’m not drunk, or intoxicated. I just love you, and I know you love me too, Zayn. As much as you say you can’t open up again, I know you already have.”

“I can’t let it happen again, Harry.”

“Please come back to me, Zayn. I need you,” Harry says softly.

“I’ll see,” Zayn says quietly. Harry’s completely right. He’s so beyond fucked and gone for Harry that the shards of his ugly heart would have Harry written all over it. That, or there would be a giant hole in the shape of Harry in it, waiting for his return to Harry’s side to fill the space.

“Can I kiss you now? I’m not drunk,” Harry asks shyly.

Zayn looks up so quickly he’s surprised his neck doesn’t snap.

The car begins to draw up to the front gates of the school, the feeling of his trunk becoming more and more evident under his thighs.

“Please?” Harry asks, biting his lip.

Zayn stands up, cradling Harry’s jaw gently in one hand and kissing him briefly on the lips. It’s not intimate, it’s gentle, and everything that Zayn doesn’t reflect in his sunken eyes and sharp cheekbones.

\- It’s a new beginning. -

“I’ll be back. I’ll try. I can’t promise,” he says as the driver opens the door to gather Zayn’s luggage. “I’ll try.”

“Thank you,” Harry says, tension flowing out of his tense shoulders and from the air that had overstayed their welcome in his lungs. “I’ll be right here.”

Zayn opens the car door, sliding onto the soft leather seat, “I know,” he grins.

.

He hears Harry’s laugh as he closes the door, the sounds of Harry's laughter ringing in his head as they drive away.

**Author's Note:**

> \-- Product of exam stress and animecharacter! combined with possible personality disorder meaning I can extract myself from a situation I am in and observe in a 3rd person p.o.v., then translate that all into 40 minutes on a word doc as Harry and Zayn simultaneously. 
> 
> The unbeta'd conditions and emotions means that this is a probably bad fic pls do not judge this hopefully isn't my best work. I am aware there are probably grammatical mistakes and verb tense changes throughout.
> 
> For OT6: in general for making me happier than I have been these past few days than I have been in probably a month or more. _Right wing enter emotional speech to centre stage w/spotlight_. (Val, don't worry about me, but yes, I'm Zayn.)


End file.
